I accidentally joined a group of charlatans, so I immediately called the police and handed it over t

The helicopter's rotors were still spinning limply overhead, no longer stirring up clouds of yellow sand, but rather a rich, intoxicating fragrance of plants.

Dr. Smith slumped down beside the enormous soybean plant, his expensive suit trousers stained with black mud.

With trembling hands, he almost self-destructively peeled open the seventh pod.

It remains flawless.

It remains as full and round as a work of art carved from jade.

This is not a soybean at all.

This is a resounding and fatal slap from God to the Western agricultural science community.

"It's fake...this must be some kind of illusion..."

Smith muttered to himself as he tried to pull out his portable genetic testing device from his pocket, hoping to find even the slightest trace of "cheating."

Even if it's due to hormones or excessive use of chemical fertilizers, he'll seize on any flaw and launch a scathing attack.

However, the green light on the instrument was blindingly bright.

[Pure natural organic crops, extremely high activity, with nutrient content exceeding standards by 300%.]

The detector fell onto the black soil.

Smith was unaware that the miniature live-streaming camera on his collar had not been cut off.

This scene is being transmitted without reservation to every corner of the world via satellite signals.

On the other side of the ocean, Western audiences who were ready to laugh at China's "desert farming" were now like ducks with their necks being choked, falling into a deathly silence.

On the screen, the chief scientist, who was usually so arrogant that he looked down on everyone, was now kneeling on the land of the East, like a devout believer, holding a handful of beans and weeping bitterly.

Fear crept up the spine of every Western capitalist along the internet cable.

Wall Street, New York Stock Exchange.

The once bustling trading hall was now so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Only the glaring red numbers on the big screen were jumping wildly.

The moment Dr. Smith's desperate, tearful words, "This is God's granary, we've lost," were broadcast live.

The collapse has begun.

"Throw it away! Throw it all away!!"

A piercing scream shattered the silence.

The stock prices of the four major grain traders (ABCD) plummeted into an abyss like a kite with a broken string on this bright sunny morning.

ADM fell 35%.

Bunge fell 42%.

Cargill and Louis Dreyfus triggered the exchange's circuit breaker mechanism, with the red candlestick chart showing a chilling cliff.

Countless fund managers held their heads in their hands, staring blankly at the hundreds of billions of dollars that evaporated in an instant, their eyes as empty as those of a dead man.

Their prized "food dollar," the sickle they used to harvest the world, has broken.

Amidst this sea of ​​panic, an official announcement from the Chinese government, like the final mountain that crushed the camel, crashed down with a deafening roar.

Announcement on Adjusting the National Grain Import Strategy.

The fewer the words, the bigger the story.

[In light of the historic breakthrough achieved in desert agriculture experiments in Northwest my country, with yields far exceeding expectations, all import plans for soybeans, corn, and wheat are hereby suspended indefinitely, effective immediately.]

[At the same time, the "Food Aid Project to Africa" ​​was launched, with the first batch of five million tons of high-quality soybeans to be shipped to friendly countries in Africa and the Middle East in three days.]

This tactic is called "drawing the firewood from under the cauldron".

This move is called "Offense and Defense in Different Forms".

The spokesperson for the Western Ministry of Agriculture, who had previously clamored that the Chinese people should "beg for food on their knees," was now hiding in a sorry state backstage at the press conference.

Outside, there were angry citizens who had lost their minds.

Because China stopped importing grains, international grain prices did not fall as expected.

Conversely, due to panic selling and extreme uncertainty about the future, the prices of flour and cooking oil in Western supermarkets tripled in just one hour.

Paris, Champs-Élysées.

Trafalgar Square, London.

Tens of thousands of angry people, holding banners, surrounded the city hall.

The words on the banner stung the nerves of every Western politician.

"We want to eat Chinese rice!"

"A fraudulent government! Resign!"

"Apologize to the East! We need cheap food!"

They used to mock the food from the East for being unsafe.

Now, they're willing to fight in the streets just to buy a bag of rice from the Taklamakan.

Base 001, Taklamakan Temporary Command Post.

The cheers outside were deafening, but inside the simple tent, the atmosphere was calm to the point of being cold.

Several Ministry of Foreign Affairs personnel, dressed in suits and sweating profusely, were watching the young man sitting on the cot with bated breath.

Chen Xi was holding a bowl of freshly cooked, steaming white rice.

The rice grains are crystal clear, like white jade, and exude a rich aroma that makes one's soul tremble.

"Commander Chen, they... they've loosened their grip over there."

A diplomat wiped the sweat from his brow, his voice brimming with barely suppressed excitement.

"They said they were willing to resume negotiations, and that the previous technology blockade could be 'appropriately' eased as long as we were willing to export food."

"appropriate?"

Chen Xi picked up a piece of rice with his chopsticks and put it in his mouth.

Soft, sweet, and with a lingering aftertaste.

That was the miraculous scent nurtured by the fertile soil.

He chewed slowly until he swallowed, then slowly raised his head, his eyes devoid of any warmth.

"Tell them."

Chen Xi's voice was soft, yet it was like a sharp scalpel, precisely cutting away the last fig leaf of the West.

"We don't need appropriateness."

"Want to buy grain? Sure."

"One EUV lithography machine can be exchanged for 10,000 tons of rice."

"A complete set of aero-engine turbine blade technology can be exchanged for 5,000 tons of soybeans."

The diplomat was stunned: "This...this is an astronomical price! They can't possibly agree to it!"

"They will agree."

Chen Xi put down his chopsticks, stood up, and walked to the tent entrance.

Outside, there was an endless expanse of green wheat fields, shimmering with golden light under the setting sun.

"Because hunger is unreasonable."

"In the past, they used chips to choke us and made us kneel."

"Now, I'm stuffing their stomachs with rice bowls."

Chen Xi turned around, a dangerous smile curving his lips.

"Let them go hungry if they're missing even one screw."

"I want to make this food something that will keep them up at night even more than nuclear weapons."

Night falls.

The temperature difference in the desert is huge, but the campsite is warm and cozy tonight.

Wisps of smoke rose from the chimneys, the first meal cooked by the engineering corps using newly harvested desert rice.

The aroma wafted for miles, and even the wind seemed reluctant to blow it away.

The soldiers held their bowls, their faces beaming with the purest and simplest happiness.

Some people ate while shedding tears; those were tears of excitement.

On the other side of the earth.

The White House, the Oval Office.

Old Deng, who is known for his antics, is currently looking at the images transmitted back by the satellite.

The rising smoke and the satisfied smiles on the faces in the video were like a sharp knife piercing his heart.

He slumped weakly in his chair, holding the newly delivered, strongly worded "grain-for-technology" list, the document slipping from his hand.

He knew that the wall the West had built against China had collapsed.